


Discount Offer

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (at least they try), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Canon Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen, He just has Depression, He loves his family, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Dick Grayson, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Self-Sacrificing Tim Drake, Sibling Bonding, Tim Drake is Red Robin, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: Tim was only supposed to be in Gotham for a little while, the next step in his plan to bring Batman back already in reach - he didn't plan on getting kidnapped. Especially not together with Dick, Damian, and Alfred - especially not by a weird bunch of cultists Tim had never seen before.Suddenly, it was a race against time.Day 9:"Take Me Instead"| Run |Ritual Sacrifice
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Whumptober2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 28
Kudos: 177
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Discount Offer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Halcyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Halcyon/gifts).



> Hello and welcome back!  
> Thank you all so much for your encouraging words!!!   
> This fic is for HALCYON! :D  
> And for everyone who might enjoy it!  
> Shoutout to CK for saving at least a few parts of this mess!!!
> 
> Comments, bookmarks, kudos and feedback make me extremely happy!

They had come for them late at night. Tim… Tim had thought he was safe, that Dick would at least protect the penthouse adequately, but apparently, he’d been wrong.

Their relationship was still rocky, but it had been getting better over the last few months, which was the main reason Tim had even agreed to stay in the penthouse with them. Dick had looked at him with his giant blue puppy dog eyes, and Tim had caved, cancelling the hotel room for his stay in Gotham.

Instead he’d slept in the guest room of a place he never wanted to feel welcome in, and for a bit it had actually been… almost great.

Tim had been working on a case manually on his laptop, Dick still resting from a bad sprain he’d gotten the night before, so neither Batman nor Robin nor Red Robin had graced the Gotham sky that night.

That had been their mistake.

Tim let the silent companionship lull him into a false sense of security, and he enjoyed the hot tea Alfred made, not even requesting coffee – he was so relaxed he actually played with the idea of going to bed on time and sleeping a full night. Especially with Damian sulking in his room.

For a few hours everything was good, almost like before, back when Tim had still had a family, back when he still trusted Dick with his life.

They retired early, the bed calling for him – being a hero was never an easy business, and after a while you were just forced to accept rest whenever you could get it.

His head hit the pillow, eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Maybe this could work out – maybe Tim could search for Bruce all while having a good relationship with Dick. Maybe they could be brothers again, sharing laughs and smiles and boring evenings in front of the TV.

He fell asleep within minutes. His hopes were pulling him towards dreams of a softer reality and his heart ached with longing – the dream was a welcome one and Tim offered himself without any resistance.

He woke up what felt like moments later to a person straddling him and jamming a needle into his neck.

 _Aw, fuck_.

The next time awareness greeted him, he was in a cave, but definitely not in The Cave. Instead, it looked like a still natural sandstone cave, one of the dozens running through the Gotham underground. The world around him was a bit fuzzy – probably the drugs – but Tim could see the shadows dancing over the light stone, and he could see the giant fire in the middle of the space he was being held in. 

Water was running over his feet, and the cold sensation helped him focus once more, his attention turning away from his thoughts regarding Plato’s Cave Allegory and towards himself… He was chained against one of the stone walls, his arms slightly raised behind him and secured in a way that would make it near impossible to escape.

His feet stood in the stream running through the bottom of the cave, and… and he was barefoot. He was Tim Drake right now.

That was the most frightening realization to hit him – Red Robin got kidnapped on the regular, the entire last year just one giant “I got you!” game with Ra’s… but Tim Drake had always been untouchable. At least ever since Bruce had threatened to put the Bat on the trail of everyone who even dared to breathe wrong in the directions of his kids. The Gotham public might thing Brucie Wayne a drunk idiot – but not even they were crazy enough to dare him when it came to the Batman.

It had been comforting to know that his dad would protect him like that, but right now all Tim could think about was the fact that the Bat wouldn’t come to save Tim Drake this time.

Because… Dick and Damian!

Tim’s head snapped upwards, away from the picture of his freezing feet and pajama clad legs, searching through the cave once more. And yes, on the other side of the space, a lot closer to the giant fire than Tim was, Dick and Damian were secured in a very similar position to his.

The smoke must have obscured them the first time Tim dared to glance around the room. That or… that was the only explanation he could live with. His eyes wandered away from the two of them, their chests still rising and falling in a manner that told Tim they were truly unconscious and not just faking it. Instead, he found something else, something worse.

Alfred was here.

His heart came to a standstill, the blood freezing in his veins. Nobody touched Alfred – the man was a holy institution in the Batclan. Everyone who ever tried to harm him, got hunted down – either by Alfred himself or by one of the Bats. Jason, the asshole, had a real love for hurting the people who threatened their butler-grandfather.

And now?

Now Alfred was in this spooky cave with them, just as high strung, just as defenseless. All of them were dressed in sleeping wear, even the little brat. Tim recognized the Nightwing PJs the boy was wearing, and it was a cruel reminder of his age.

Damian might be a pest, and there were some things Tim just wasn’t ready to let go, but… the boy was also ten, and smaller than Tim had been at that age.

At least Alfred’s feet were dressed in slippers, the icy water probably doing a little less harm to the old man than it was currently doing to the rest of them.

Tim couldn’t feel his toes anymore.

That was not a problem per say. He knew he was still far away from hypothermia or the threat of loosing his toes, but it would be hard to run effectively if he couldn’t feel his feet should he get an opportunity to escape.

There was no one else in the cave with them, at least not yet, and Tim was… anxious. He liked gloating villains so much better than the ones who knew how to wait – the gloating kind was easier to manipulate, and better to prepare for.

But, no, Tim was left to hang on this wall, watching the shadows of the giant fire move, unable to feel his feet.

What if it was Ra’s al Ghul? What if this was another one of the Demon’s Head’s plans?

Well, it wouldn’t be impossible – the man knew their secret identities after all, he knew where they lived, he would probably even be able to organize something like this just for the show. But… _no_.

It hadn’t been one of Ra’s assassins that had pressed Tim down into the mattress of his bed, plunging a needle into his neck. If it had been the old creep, Tim would never even have noticed that something was wrong until he woke up in a different place than the one, he had gone to bed at – but Tim had woken up, if too late.

That meant… that meant their kidnapper was someone good, but not _that_ good.

Combined with the fact that Tim didn’t know if the assailant knew their secret identities, and that the M.O. didn’t fit any of the known Gotham Crazies… to say that Tim was worried, would be an understatement.

He let his gaze wander through the cave once more, this time making eye contact with Dick. The man looked a bit bleary, but Tim could basically watch as Dick went through the same calculations Tim had just gone through.

And then Dick’s gaze found Damian and Alfred.

Tim really hoped his own reaction of worry and distress hadn’t been as obvious as Dick’s was, the man only checking once before he started pulling on his restrains in an effort to get to Damian.

Something curdled in Tim’s stomach at the sight, but he pushed it back down. Now was really not the time for some misplaced jealousy. Instead, he focused on his own shackles, testing them carefully now that he knew that he was no longer the only one awake.

He would have backup now should he manage to escape, and Tim had missed that. He had missed not being the only one on the field.

It felt different than when he had been Robin… it wasn’t as if he counted on Batman to protect him. But a sense of security came from knowing that someone else would have his back. Maybe that was just wishful thinking though.

His numb fingers couldn’t even find a dent in the shackles securing him.

Tim watched helplessly as first Alfred woke up as well, the old man making a disgruntled sound at being is such an unsignifying position, and then Damian blinked his eyes open a lot later.

The boy was looking dazed, and Tim couldn’t hear what Dick was whispering in his direction, but if he read Dick’s worried frown correctly, they wouldn’t be able to count of Damian for backup as well. The boy was out of it – probably a slight overdose of whatever drug they had been given, before being brought here, Tim concluded.

Concern bubbled in his stomach, and Tim wasn’t sure if that was a good development or a bad one. He was starting to care for the kid. _Disgusting_.

Not that Tim had all that much time to worry about Damian, someone else finally entering the cave. The ice-cold feeling had been crawling up his legs for the past hour, and Tim was getting sick of it. Maybe even literally.

He was getting to a point where he would have to worry about hypothermia after all. Missing a spleen was shit.

But before that could happen, a group of people in fancy robes pushed into the room, waterproof footwear visible underneath their old timey clothing every now and then.

A cult.

 _Wow_.

Tim was impressed. Not.

They huddled together around the giant fire, and Tim only began to worry when they hadn’t done anything for five minutes straight. There was no chanting. No monologuing. No crazy laughter.

There was only silence and the faint cracking of burning wood.

Not good at all. No… Tim did not like this one bit.

Maybe it had been the right choice when he stayed out of Gotham, maybe he didn’t have to reintroduce the crazy back into his life like this – wasn’t it enough that a 700-year-old creep wanted him to join the dark side?

Tim let his head connect with the cave wall behind him. It was a bit more uncomfortable like this, but he could still watch the proceedings in front of him well enough. Dick was switching between worriedly glancing towards Damian and scanning the room for clues. Alfred was doing much the same.

All of them were Bats after all, no matter what title they bore.

After what felt like an eternity the chanting finally began, and Tim could feel something inside him lose a little. It was still a shit situation, and at least one of them was going to get hurt, but at least now they were back in familiar territory.

Standard cultists were a lot easier to deal with, than non-standard ones. That was just easy math.

The odd clicking and hissing sounds bounced off the cave walls, creating odd echoes. Whatever it was Tim didn’t recognize the language. The best he could guess was perhaps a dialect of ancient Egyptian. He had seen some interesting research done by historians and linguists trying to recreate the spoken language from Egyptian scripts — but even that was just speculation.

Something got thrown into the fire and a giant flame shot towards the ceiling, a heavy smell of sage and myrrh filling the entire space. Tim was forced to cough, and opposite him he could see Dick and Damian do the same. Only Alfred didn’t bow to the intensity of the smoke, the lips of the old man a thin and straight line.

Alfred wasn’t happy, and Tim felt for the creeps and whatever punishment the butler would rain over them once they were free again.

It wouldn’t be pretty to say the least.

Tim’s head felt as if it was stuffed with wool, the longer he was forced to breathe in the intense air. He could feel his muscles relax. Apparently, something else had been mixed into the aroma bomb, and Tim was not at all happy about the way it made his muscles lose their tension.

It didn’t take long, and Tim had to use the wall behind him to stay completely upright, and he could see the rest of his family face the same struggle.

His thoughts began to wander, down dark paths he didn’t want to take. He saw different caves, their Cave, and he saw Ra’s grinning, with victory shining in his eyes. Tim tried to keep his brain on track, to work on a plan to free them all… but the smell suddenly reminded him of the mountain range he had fought Ra’s on, and off the dry desert Tim had almost lost his life in.

So many things were dancing through his mind, confusion fuddling his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure anymore if he was still standing.

In a way the cult helped him return to his senses, when one of them spoke, the voice loud and distinctly male:

“Now that you have been cleansed! Now that you are ready! We shall slaughter the rich! And reap their valuables!”

The rest of the cult followed the chant and it took too long for Tim to realize what was going on. They were trying to kill then. Of course, they were. But apparently…? No, Tim was too hazy to really follow their logic.

He was forced to kick-start his brain, however, when three of the cultists made their way towards Damian and Dick.

 _Fuck. No_.

His mouth wasn’t working probably, and Tim was forced to watch in silence as the shackles holding Dick up got unleashed and the man fell forwards, caught by the strong arms of some asshole who liked to dress in silk robes. Horror crawled up Tim’s spine when the cultists did the same to Damian, carrying the half-conscious boy as if he weighted nothing.

Tim struggled against his restraints, but nothing seemed to work, his muscles lax, his movements sluggish. Alfred seemed to do the same, the old man swaying where he stood.

This was turning from a shitty situation into a disastrous one rather quickly.

Tim had thought them to be a normal cult, and usually that meant they talked a lot more before they got to the killing portion of their ritual sacrifice, but apparently… well, apparently this cult was ready to get down to business.

The stone alter – Tim was sure there was a stone alter – was just out of view, but Tim could still watch as his brothers got carried over there. Dick was struggling weakly, pushing and cursing and twisting around, but the cultists held strong. More concerning, however, was the fact that Damian didn’t fight at all.

He wasn’t even biting them!

Tim hated how unsure it made him feel, hated how uselessness was bleeding into his bones. He had to do something! He had to save them somehow! He had to be… he had to make sure Dick and Damian survived!

Tim struggled harder. Bruce would be so disappointed in him. How would he ever tell him when he returned-- how could he explain that he let two of his sons die? How could he tell him he hadn't been able to save his own brothers? He hadn't even managed to free one of his own arms, when the apparent cult leader spoke once more:

“We shall begin with the richest, and we shall work our way down – that way everyone will be blessed by their fortune!”

 _But…_ Tim struggled to open his mouth, his tongue a numb piece of flesh inside of it. He wanted… he had to stop them!

Dick and Damian vanished from view, but Tim could hear the telltale sounds of heavy chains being slung around wrists, and the muffled complains from Dick about the cold.

Their time was running out, and looking at Alfred, the old man was just as aware of that fact as Tim was.

Tim tried again and again to open his shackles, the fog over his brain lifting slowly. He could do it. _He would do it_. But he hadn’t managed to achieve freedom yet, when a scream of pain pierced through the cave. It was Dick – Tim would always recognize that voice, and it hurt to think that… Tim had been too late.

“The first knife is for the souls you met in your life! It is for those you touched! They are grateful! The second knife – is for the poor! Those you harmed! Those whose suffering you helped cause!”

A second scream, more muffled this time, and Tim realized that… that he wasn’t just running out of time – he had reached the end of their rope. It was a blood curdling sound, to hear the Batman cry in pain, but at least… at least Dick was still making any sound at all.

Tim just had to believe in that.

“Let him go!”

Alfred yelled, the old man’s voice frail and weak. But if Alfred had managed to get the control of his tongue back…

His own voice was a mess, his throat dry and his nerves showing. He was babbling – but at least he was talking:

“Hey! He is not the richest! Take me! Take me instead! Dick has no access to Wayne’s money… that is all on me! I am the Head of WE! I am the one who owns the company! And I am the Drake heir _! Take me instead_!”

The cult leader didn’t seem to react, but some of the followers still standing surrounding the fire, turned around to look at Tim.

Was it working? It had to be working!

Hell, it wasn’t even a real plan… this was quite the opposite actually. This was a tactic to ensure Tim would no longer be forced to listen helplessly as his brother suffered. It would be okay if it was him – Tim had collected all the clues he needed to find Bruce, and he had left instructions on how to finalize the last step, bringing the man, the legend, his dad, back.

No one needed Tim for that – they would do just fine without him.

And maybe he could buy them enough time like this, to ensure that Dick would manage to save Alfred and Damian. Maybe even him, though he knew what his place on the priority list was. He couldn’t even fault Dick for that – Damian was a drugged-up child, and Alfred a frail old man.

Tim could handle himself.

He yelled even louder:

“Take me instead! I have millions and billions! I am the true Wayne heir! Bruce barely left them anything! It all belongs to me! Take me instead!”

Tim just hoped they would forgive him for his words – the Wayne money was actually split rather evenly between all of them. Cass and Jason having trust founds as well, even if Jason couldn’t access his. But the rest was true – at least legally.

Dick had gotten the Wayne Foundation portion of the company, and an honorary seat on the committee, but Tim had been forced to seize the Wayne Fortune and WE to protect it from Thomas Elliot. If Damian was older, he might be able to force Tim to relent his hold on the company via a court case, but as it was?

Tim had taken control where he could find it.

And now he would use it to save his brothers:

“Take me! My… My fortune will be better for you! They don’t--- They would just disrupt your ritual! What happens if you do it in the wrong order? Won’t… Won’t your Gods be unhappy then?”

The cult leader had ignored him first, but the last statement seemed to pierce his single-minded intent to skewer Dick. From Tim’s position, he was only able to see the raised hand with the bloody blade still clutched in it, but when the arm vanished from his field of vision once more, it wasn’t with the fierceness needed to stab someone.

Only seconds later Tim could see why: The cult leader appeared from behind the flames, like a cliché Disney villain and made his way towards Tim. Tim tried to ignore the sickness pooling in his stomach at the sight of the blood dripping down the cult leader’s hands. He also tried to ignore the fact that Tim couldn’t hear Dick anymore.

Instead he focused on staring the asshole down, even if he couldn’t see a face behind the drawn-up hood covering his head.

The man didn’t stop to talk to him, instead backhanding Tim with cruel force. His neck snapped around, and Tim could hear a click, that didn’t sound all that good. Well, a massage could wait – Dick couldn’t. Bloody spit drippled out of the corner of his mouth, when he managed to look at the man again.

“What?”

“Are you truly the richest?”

“Yes.”

Another staring match, again with Tim unable to see his opponent’s eyes. It was unnerving, but everything was better than being forced to listen to Dick cry out in pain. Tim was capable of letting someone else hurt him – better him than anyone else.

The cult leader nodded, and Tim could see a flash of pale skin, before a fist connected with his stomach, and the shackles holding him up got opened.

Tim couldn’t help himself, he curled up, his legs folding beneath him, his knees hitting the ice-cold water. In all the panic he had almost forgotten that his feet were standing in water… that he could no longer feel them.

Walking would be painful.

But Tim didn’t struggle as they carried him past Alfred and towards the fire. He didn’t struggle when the proximity to the flames began to warm his feet, and he didn’t struggle when he got a glimpse of the stone alter.

Even if he really, really wanted to.

Damian and Dick were chained down opposite each other, their heads touching, their arms and legs forced wide and open. Damian seemed a bit more awake now than he had earlier, even if Tim could see pure panic in the eyes of the child. The drugs must still be running havoc in the small body, Damian never allowing himself to appear so vulnerable otherwise.

Dick, on the other hand, was openly struggling, even if his attempts were weak. Closer to his brother Tim could actually hear the moans of pain that were still escaping Dick’s mouth, and he could see the blood run down from the two stab wounds, one in each shoulder.

They looked torn and ugly – the blades still buried deep inside the flesh.

If they were lucky, they were only flesh wounds on a joint that took ages to heal. If they were unlucky an artery got nicked, or a nerve got cut, and irreparable damage would have been dealt.

It was Tim’s job to make sure they survived long enough for Dick to find out. Having an answer was better than dying in pain.

Tim knew that – they all knew that.

Their eyes met, as the men carried Tim to the stone alter, and Tim followed the flick of Dick’s eyes towards the chains holding him down.

Dick had managed to open one. And when Tim let his gaze wander towards the other hand, Dick was already busy opening that one as well. The chains weren’t nearly as well secured as the shackles, and Tim knew Dick’s plan, without the man having to convey anything more.

It must be painful for Dick to open the restrains one handed, and yet Batman couldn’t let himself be stopped by blood and injury – Tim wouldn’t let that stop him either.

If Tim had counted correctly there were thirteen cultists, at least four of whom were strong and buff enough to carry a vigilante. Red Robin would be able to take care of them all without problem, but a tired and aching Tim Drake would struggle – but not if he had an also tired and aching Dick Grayson by his side.

And a furiously pissed Alfred.

It was a dangerous gamble Dick wanted him to engage in, one that could endanger not just their lives but also their identities… but the look in Dick’s eyes told him, that his older brother wasn’t any more willing to listen to Tim being tortured, than Tim had been able to listen, while Dick screamed in agony.

It was… Tim felt a surge of warmth at that idea, before the logical part of his brain told him that the chances of success were minimal at best. But Tim wasn’t the only one who knew their odds – maybe Tim could trust this Batman as well.

At least just this once.

His nod was barely there at all, and he could watch the shift in Dick’s body as Batman stepped on the forefront of his mental controls. The switch had been more natural on Bruce, but it was still scary to see Dick turn into the cold, dark Bat.

Tim waited as the cult leader pushed him down onto the same slap of stone Damian was already laying on, and he could see the mistrust and confusion on the small face. It must be hella scary for the brat – even if he had been raised by assassins, drugged and chained was never a good look.

The asshole’s grip on his arms was steady and strong, but Tim didn’t let that bother him. Instead he waited as another member of the cult undid Damian’s restrains, probably in an effort to use them on Tim.

That was when he struck.

He was fast as lightning when he twisted in the hold the cold leader had on him, swinging his legs upwards and over the shoulder of the guy. It was a move that demanded incredibly flexibility – Dick had been the one to teach him.

He had the cult leader’s neck between his thighs, the man bruising Tim’s arm in an attempt to pull him down, when Damian snapped forward and bit the person freeing his arms. The boy wasn’t holding back, Tim able to see blood run down the arm of the cult member, as Damian held steady, and Tim finished his very not-fun rodeo on top of the bad guy.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tim watched as Dick struggled upwards, mostly using his legs to help him fight. His arms must be pure agony – but Tim knew that Dick would not let that hold him back. At least not while Tim and Damian still needed him.

Finally, the cult leader’s motions slowed, as Tim focused back on his attempt to choke the man out. Adrenaline was flooding his system, as the guy finally swayed and fell – Tim twisting out of the way just in time to evade a harsh collision with the stone table.

Damian was standing as well, sweat collecting on his forehead, his chest heaving, something deadly in his gaze. The brat looked furious, and for maybe the first time ever… Tim was glad to see the kid.

From the sounds of it Dick was doing okay as well, Tim hearing one of the cultists scream in pain, as Dick delivered what Tim believed to be a kick to their knee.

Now, they only had to get to Alfred, through the masses of nine angry cultists who wanted to see them dead. And hey, they were only aching, drugged, and bleeding. They were basically in best form.

Tim’s muscles were tense as he watched the crowd in front of him, and he could feel Dick step next to him, the man’s feet careful and silent. Damian was on Tim’s other side, when Dick turned to them and said:

“Good job. You did well. Really well.”

“There are like… most of them still here.”

Tim didn’t necessarily want to be contrary, but sometimes the words just slipped out before he could help himself. Dick didn’t seem to mind, a smile gracing his permanently tired face:

“Then let’s show them what Gotham’s elite is made out of.”

With that Batman stepped forward, Robin by his side. Tim blinked, and it wasn’t the past haunting him anymore – it were his brothers ready to fight for their lives, ready to fight for Tim’s as well.

From the other end of the cave, Tim could hear a yell that sounded suspiciously like a very British “Take that!”. He couldn’t help himself, smiling through the exhaustion and the worry: the image of Alfred beating people up just one very close to his heart.

Yeah, it was high time they showed these cultists what… what the Wayne family was made out of!


End file.
